


Machines and Weaknesses

by Ihlamur



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihlamur/pseuds/Ihlamur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes strength is the least of Horuss' concerns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Machines and Weaknesses

**Author's Note:**

> haha this thing is really old what the hell (i wrote it last september or august i think) the dynamic's ok enough but the style not very,, idek it's sex (,,kind of) just take it //rolls away

oOo

He's just putting away the last of his tools, wondering if he should dismantle the workbench too—the bench is an unsightly thing to leave in the open when not being used—when he hears it.

Of the several emotions that wing through his mind in one quivering moment, the first is joy; the second, dismay. With his back to the noise and no time to sort through his upended thoughts, he murmurs, "Rufioh?"

Silence is his only answer for a sweep-long minute. Just as he has begun to move again, shoving a wrench into the toolbox with a distracted hand, another twig snaps; his eyes catch a leaf or four quivering near the edge of his clearing.

There is no breeze.

"Rufioh, if that is you, cease playing childish games this instant."

To his astonishment, a faltering laugh does stumble towards him from behind the trees. "Hey, I'm sorry. I just thought I'd surprise you." There's a series of much louder crackings and rustlings and a sheepish face emerges mohawk-first, his hair in disarray and his smile absolutely lovely. "Forgot you don't like that sort of thing."

_Why do you have to put it like that…_

"It's not an issue of liking or disliking it", Horuss says stiffly. "There is little point in sneaking up on me for no purpose other than to dislodge my equilibrium."

_I don't dislike it, I just—_

"Also, you're here early. Is everything all right?" Indigo eyes move gingerly over Rufioh's disheveled appearance, trying to gauge how much of it can be owed to flying below thick tree cover. The rustblood's smile betrays nothing, and Horuss finds himself thinking of Damara Megido.  _How much is she capable of?_

A single wing twitches in something akin to impatience. "If I'm here, everything's A-okay, dog. Not gonna lie, it's a relief, getting away from Damara… there's not much that could stop me from seizing the chance, you know…"

And the movement is so sudden, so very sudden, that their noses are almost touching in the space of a single shared breath. Pressed against the blueblood though he is, pushing him onto the rough wooden bench, Rufioh does not quite meet Horuss' eyes as he mutters, "And yeah, it's always good to see you, too."

Horuss feels his face grow warm at the sudden proximity of their bodies, but whispers with an impishness he had not known he could feel, "What an honor to be part of your afterthoughts, Nitram."

"Don't", his lover whispers back. "Don't let's, you know I didn't mean it like that."  _You really have no talent for the games that matter, do you?_  "You said you'd show me what you were working on, Horuss."

_Something that means nothing when I am with you._

The thought of unpinning himself from the arms that cage him to his workbench, of moving away from the dancing warmth of Rufioh's breath, has never seemed more unwelcome.

"It's of no importance", he says plaintively. "We can look at that later if you'd like."  _Do you really want to move…?_

But the relief that crosses the other troll's face, though fleeting, is obvious. "I might not have time later", Rufioh says feebly, while the roaming of his hands says otherwise and the heat—the heat of undeniable arousal that pools thick in the space between them—is not Horuss' alone.

Bare hands skim over clothed skin and leave sparks in every trembling joint; his words, halting and hesitant, have lost all direction. "I keep having to cut things short, so… I'm sorry about that, doll, I really am…"

"If you know you don't have much time", the blueblood hisses, trying to will away the irrepressible southward surge of blood, "would you honestly rather spend it looking at  _machines?_ "

_It doesn't matter, none of it matters except you._

_What happened to being strong?_

Rufioh casts a glance at their straining bulges and lets out a helpless chuckle, leaning in for a kiss at last. "I guess not."

oOo

The first thing he is aware of is not his own breath but Rufioh's, tangling in the nape of his neck, giving way to warm lips and a warmer tongue and words that burn against his skin.

"Horuss."

_Rufioh,_  he tries to say in response, but the name slips voicelessly from his mouth and is lost in a most undignified gasp as a hand makes itself known between his thighs.

His arms are around Rufioh's neck, fingers sunk deep into red-tipped hair with practiced urgency; his legs have long parted to accommodate his lover as he stands between them; touch meets touch in the sliding of their bodies, their synchronized heartbeats.

Fluttering pulses twirl beneath their skin, taut like bowstrings.

"Horuss."

One hand travels the length of his thigh, the other dips below his waistband and brushes against bare skin.  _Why is my chest bare…?_

_Rufioh,_  he tries to say again, but this time it's a kiss that swallows his voice—a hesitant yet deliriously needy tongue moving against his own, mirroring the texture of the touches he feels below. Fiery fingertips moving closer to where the pulse is most demanding, most insistent… circling the base once, twice, before dipping further south to tease the wetness that throbs there.

Horuss feels his spine curl into itself, his grip on Rufioh's hair tightening, pulling the rustblood closer until their exposed bulges grind against each other. "Rufioh", he manages at last, strengthened by the mewling groan this movement elicits from his lover, "If… if you do not get on with it, I…"

"Got it", the voice in his hear whispers, husky and petal-soft and so very breathless.  _Why… why when all I can feel is your breath, your touch…_

_Touch me,_

He lifts his hips and his pants are slid off in the second it takes for him to force his eyes open, to give Rufioh one blazing look of purest, most unabashed need before slamming their mouths together and pulling him down. The table feels cool beneath his fevered, sweat-slicked, gloriously naked skin as his arms tighten.

_Take me…_

"E-easy there, doll!" Rufioh gasps. He's shaking too, Horuss can feel it now; feel it flow like electricity in his own veins from his arms to the very roots of his hair. His legs rise of their own accord to wrap themselves around the rustblood's waist, his mind already shattering, a heap of fragile pleas and frantic heartbeat under his lover's warm gaze.

And it grows ever warmer as he's taken, inch by pulsating inch, shudder by overwhelmed shudder. Pressed into with increasing roughness, little more than sensitive skin and a single low moan; all strength, all control long forgotten. All strength meaningless as he clenches and throbs around the girth of the bulge inside him.

Movement that ebbs and peaks and swirls, sometimes fast, sometimes agonizingly slow; sometimes hard enough that their world seems to fray at the seams, and always,  _always_  blazing with the familiar warmth that can never be anything but Rufioh.

_I don't need_

A voice that cracks with the weight of its own emotion, tattered rhythm and mounting need.

_to feel_

He's lost. Thrusts begin to pile atop another and the world is nothing else, the world is the liquid groans in the air and unbridled bucking between his legs, the hand in his hair and the lips on his neck and Rufioh, always Rufioh…

_in control._

Faster still, and the little coherence he's held on to goes up in flames.

"Rufioh—"

It's all he can say before his limbs seize up in one final swell of pleasure that overtakes all thought; sensation spills over, then melts into sticky wetness; once, twice, and thrice with the new blossoming heat inside of him.

Ragged breathing washes over his face. He's kissed again, slowly this time, with quivering lips and a tenderness that causes his still-dazed heart to ache deeper than he's ever known.

"Horuss", Rufioh whispers into the space where their breaths fight for stability. And although he's regained his thoughts and his vision no longer swims before him, Horuss has no desire to fight the faint smile that rises to his lips.

_I was never in control, and it never mattered._

_What happened to being strong?_

Gasping laughter, two heartbeats locked together, and unending kisses: their thoughtless, boundless secret.  _Rufioh happened._

A rustle of his wings and one roguish smile.

"Horuss."


End file.
